Chapter 15 Slade
Slade
Rain pelts the windows, driven by the gale-force winds, as I lie on my bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Other than leaving the bedroom today when Bane had come to get me to make our meals together, I haven’t left.
I don’t have the energy to deal with the Bunnies’ hostile glares, even though there’s a certain satisfaction in staring them down and giving them the finger.
And I definitely don’t have the energy to deal with the looks that some of the MC members have been giving me. It’s like they know something I don’t. It’s the same look Jaarl, Tyr, and Sten have given me whenever they talk to me.
I’ve been able to withstand longer bouts of time cooped up in here, hiding in my room, before my anxiety blooms to life and threatens to wake my demons, but they’re stirring.
My emotions want to break out of the secure, metal box I’ve buried them in, and the screams are right there, ready to roar to life, along with the horrifying memories I keep pushed back.
If my control of repressing everything slips today, it will be disastrous. I can feel it.
I feel…fragile.
Like the smallest push will cause me to spiral until my mind and body are severed from each other, shattering not only my mind but my soul.
Come on, drama queen. Get it together. Granger’s voice prods me.
Sitting up, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and hang my head in my hands.
Granger gave me the nickname, which was a total oxymoron, because out of the five of us, I was the least ‘drama queen-esque’ of all. I had the shittiest luck by far, and I was the least likely to be affected by it.
Before Antwane, I had taken the things that happened to me in stride.
Granger, Camber, Axel, and Sam were trust fund brats.
Bored, but they found their highs in stealing cars rather than doing drugs and partying.
The worst thing that had happened to them was their parents putting limits on their credit cards.
Taking a deep breath, I reach over to the bedside table and grab the burner cell. When I turn it on, there are no missed calls or texts—not that I expected any, since my friends and I have a different way of staying in touch.
I dial the number and listen as it rings until a recorded message, with a male, English-accented voice, starts to play.
Granger recorded the message; he loved pretending that he was an English aristocrat, and he used a voice modulator so it couldn’t be traced back to him.
Thanks to who and what Granger and Camber’s dad was, they knew what precautions to take and also had access—albeit access through ‘sticky fingers’—to top-tier tech.
After the beep, I leave my friends a message.
“Hey.” My voice sounds so flat in my ears that it could be a robot, and I clear my throat.
“God, I hate this stupid-ass recording.” What I wouldn’t give to be with them right now.
“I arrived at where I was headed, but my plan didn’t quite go off as I intended.
I’m fine, though,” I stress so they don’t make a stupid decision and come here.
If anyone—AKA Digits—manages to intercept this voicemail, they’ll discover the number is registered to Matt Knight, who just happens to be dead. Hopefully, they’ll think I’m some heartbroken lover leaving a message for their dead loved one, like in some movie, and I roll with that.
“It might make me a drama queen”—Granger will get a kick out of that—“but I really wish I could hear your actual voice. I miss you. I hope heaven is as beautiful as you.” Then for good measure, I add, “Tell the other angels I say hi.”
I’m satisfied that I left a detailed enough message that my friends would know I haven’t left the Havoc Guardians’ compound yet, and that I’m okay, but one that’s vague enough that if Digits does intercept it, it doesn’t give him anything solid to go on.
If Digits does dig, he’ll only find a man from Ohio who lived a boring, strait-laced life as an accountant, who died in a ferry accident, and who has no ties to me or my friends. It would be a dead-end lead.
With that accomplished, I power down the phone and lay it back on the bedside table.
There’s a knock on my door, and I swivel my head to look at it with a frown. “Go away.”
I’m not sure who it is, but there’s no one here I want to talk to right now, especially not Bane.
There’s a chuckle, and I grit my teeth. It’s Bane. Of course it fucking is.
“Open up, Slade.” The door handle jiggles. “Unlock the door.”
“You told me to lock it.” I can’t help the smirk that curls my lips. Busting his ass might just become a favorite pastime.
“You’re being a brat.” I can hear the growl in his voice, and something about it makes my toes involuntarily curl and heat blooms between my legs as my pussy wakes up.
I don’t answer him because I’m too busy concentrating on dousing the lust that’s stirring to life.
The door swings open, and I bolt off the bed. “That was locked.”
He fills the doorway and smirks, holding up a set of keys. “Master key that unlocks every lock in the place.”
“Well, that will let me sleep easier.”
“Don’t worry, only Ash and I have copies.”
“Surprising how my mind isn’t instantly put at ease.”
His smirk morphs into a smile, and he crooks his finger at me.
I ignore the flare of lust that small motion caused.
“Let’s go.”
“Where?” I demand.
He’s looking at me as if assessing what I’m wearing—long-sleeve shirt and leggings. “The gym,” he finally says.
“It’s eleven at night.”
He crosses his arms over his broad chest, and I ignore the way his corded, defined arms flex and move. “We could watch a movie in the common area.”
“Pass.”
He cocks his head to the side. “I have a nice big TV in my room that’s more private.”
This surge of lust nearly chokes me, and I quickly smother it. “Hard pass. And stop being inappropriate.”
He grins. “Well, it gets you to react, doesn’t it?”
“Nope, not in the slightest.”
“Liar. Now let’s go.” He turns on his heel and walks out the door like I’m a puppy being trained to be obedient.
“Bane,” I warn.
He looks at me over his shoulder, a pleased, satisfied look on his face. “The annoyed anger in your voice is very refreshing, little one.”
He’s right; I am expressing both annoyance and anger, with no immediate spiral into chaos and hell.
“You’re a dick.”
He shrugs. “Dick. Asshole. Motherfucker. I go by many names. Now let’s go.” His tone isn’t playful or light this time, but dark and commanding.
I want to refuse on principle; however, I really need to get out of this room. So I follow him out the door like the good little puppy I’m being trained to be.
Fuck my life.